


In This My Life (As A Ghost)

by NoPitSoDeep



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Feels, M/M, h/c, im sorry-freeform, protective!lucifer, youre welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-06
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 15:45:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1033450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPitSoDeep/pseuds/NoPitSoDeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pit is only fire, and Lucifer has always been cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In This My Life (As A Ghost)

The first thing Michael feels as they enter the pit is the heat.

The first thing Michael does as they enter the pit is scream.

He feels a thousand fires scorch at every inch of him, traveling into every crevice of his body and his grace, and he screams, with all the pain and fury of a wounded archangel, a scream to shatter not just glass but rock and stone, a scream which shakes the core of hell itself.

It takes him all of a few seconds to lose consciousness.

-0-

When he wakes, he almost forgets where he is for the lack of flames. His face is pressed into something cool, and soft, and strong arms are wrapped around his back, soft fingers carding gently through his folded wings. He lifts his head, and Lucifer is there, looking down at him with those same soft, green eyes, carried by every vessel he has, but so much sadder, now. Michael blinks, and his eyes dart around, taking in what little surroundings he can see. He is surrounded by white and black...fur? 

No. Not fur.

Feathers. 

_Wings_.

Lucifer's wings are wrapped around him, cocooning him in their embrace, three sets of giant barriers between him and whatever awaits on the other side. Michael reaches out, his fingertips trailing over one long, shimmering feather, and Lucifer draws a sharp breath in, halting his fingers in their tracks. 

"Luce--" His head jerks back up, and Lucifer's eyes are closed, his mouth pressed into a tight line. 

"It's fine." 

And then it clicks. 

_Lucifer's wings are wrapped around him, sheilding him._

But what's sheilding them? 

"Your wings..."

"He'll come." Lucifer mumbles, his eyes opening slowly, and his hands coming around to cup Michael's cheeks. "He'll come for you."

_Father_.

"Lucifer, you--"

"I'm fine." His jaw is relaxed, as though the fires of hell aren't beating down on his back, as though he isn't the only thing standing between his brother and the agony he was subjected to for a millenia, and he's not smiling, but there's something soft in his eyes, something small and sweet and resigned, and it gives Michael pause.

Lucifer had never been one to let something go once he'd set his mind to it. 

Michael moves his hands, allowing them to rest on Lucifer's chest. The vessel he'd chosen once in the pit is not his destined one, rather that of the human, Nick, he had inhabited before. Similarly, looking down at his own body, Michael realizes that instead of holding onto Adam's form, he had taken back up the body of the boy's father, in his mid-twenties, as he had inhabited him not so long ago. He wonders, vaguely, where Sam and Adam are , now. Whether they are safe. 

"I couldn't--" Lucifer cust off, and swallows, looking up. "I could only sheild one of you." The pain in his voice is so clear, so evident, as though it had broken something deep and carnal inside of him to leave his vessel alone in the heat, and Michael can relate, although probably not to the same extent. Much as he had loved Adam, and Dean, at one point, Lucifer's connection with Sam had been much more prevalent, and somehow, made his own safety worse.

"You should let me out." He mutters, closing his eyes, and resting his forehead against his brother's shoulder. 

"No." It's finite, as though Lucifer has spent enough time considering this that it is now set in stone. But they have always had a penchant for agruing. 

"I forced you to burn. I deserve to feel what you felt." And it's true. If anything, Michael should be sheilding Lucifer from these fires. It's the job of the older brother to protect the younger. 

"He'll come." Lucifer repeats, setting his jaw. "And until then, I'll keep you safe." His fingers wind through Michael's hair, and Michael turns, resting his cheek against the cool fabric of Lucifer's vessel's shirt. He imagines Lucifer's wings, how burnt and broken they must be, imagines the pain he must feel just keeping them wrapped around him. He imagines the thousands of years Lucifer spent here, trapped alone in the fire. Imagines how it must be for a being who has always frozen all he touches and trailed ice in his wake. 

"Do you get used to it?" 

There's a long silence, in which Michael barely breathes, and then;

"You wouldn't."

It's not an answer, but for now, it's enough. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> For Mikey. Love, Luce.


End file.
